


Dolls of DETriot

by Dei_os



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, DETriot AU, Gen, I call it :, I'll add more characters as I go along but it's pretty much the full cast, In which I used to spell "detroit" wrong almost all the time, It's uhhhh steampunk and the 1920s???, Nines goes through a few name changes, Tbh it might turn out pretty different from the actual canon verse because I'm??? Inspired, This is an AU, also I've never written anything on Ao3 ever so bear with me please, everything is from a 3rd POV because I suck at writing first person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-01 22:03:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dei_os/pseuds/Dei_os
Summary: An AU I feel sounds cooler in theory but not so much in practice?I drew quite a bit of fanart for it but I suck at drawing comics so I'll probably just write most of it and add fun pictures to help,,, illustrate my point if I can.There's going to be a lot of inaccuracies to the canon.I haven't written a fanfic in over 4-5 years whoops.





	1. The Hostage

**Author's Note:**

> Det is an abbreviation for a hallucinogenic drug fun fun.  
> There's going to be a lot of historical inaccuracies, as well as some sexism, homophobia, and racism because it's the 20s  
> The setting is in Las Vegas (??Kinda-- it's more or less a cross between modern Las Vegas and 1920s New York)
> 
>  
> 
> Connor and RK900 are deployed at the same time in this  
> There's some term changes:  
> Deviant --> Aberrant  
> Android --> Doll or Artificials
> 
> I hope y'all have fun reading my fic hhh,,  
> Critique and feedback is welcome-- I'm out of practice when it comes to narrative writing.

 

Lights bounced around the small brown space in a rhythmic pattern. Occasionally you could hear the flick of a coin, and the gears grinding and tapping together with small 'clink's as they worked to lift the elevator platform up. Connor's eyes were glued to the faintly glowing number on the top of the elevator door that was guarded by a collapsible gate. As the floor numbers flickered, Connor focused on sifting through static in the back of his head.

 

_|0|1|_

 

_"It's August 15th-- ~~28--~~ "_

 

_|0|2|_

 

 _" ~~\-- 8:30~~ [20:30] i ~~n the afternoon-- I hope you all are having a good time tonight--"~~_  

 

"Eight, I hope you're aware of the importance of this mission." RK900's voice bounced off the walls of the small compartment coldly, although neither RK900 nor Connor could really feel it like the humans might. Connor remained unfazed, closing his eyes and softly clenching the coin in his stiff hand, unable to feel the cool surface of the coin. 

 

"Yes, I am aware of this, Nine." Connor kept his eyes closed, not wanting to be exposed to RK900's gaze. Unbeknownst to him, RK900 was uninterested in staring at him, deciding he'd rather watch paint peel off the walls of the shaky elevator than to look at his twin model. 

 

"I'd rather you prepare yourself for this mission, rather than toy with a coin like a child." 

 

RK800's eyes fluttered open, although unwillingly, and he pocketed the coin. 

 

 _|0|3|  -_ The elevator slowed to a stop.

 

"Yes, Nine."

 

"If this becomes a problem, I'll take it upon myself to confiscate the coin."

 

"...Yes, Nine."

 

Connor tried to will himself to close his eyes once more, but his right eyelid stuck, as if it were glued up. Connor lifted an index finger to his right optic, rolling around the glass eye casually in it's socket, and blinking a couple times to test. The collapsible gate opened only after the wood elevator doors slid open. RK900 wasted no time, swiftly leaving the elevator as soon as the speaker overhead let out a chirp of approval, a green light. Connor lagged behind, still trying to adjust the hollow ball into place so he could actually blink. He wouldn't want to unsettle anyone by only blinking one eye whilst the other stayed affixed. 

 

RK900 approached the apartment at the end of the hall, ignoring the bystanders and neighbors who stood in their nightgowns and robes, whispering among each other. Once Connor was sure his eyelid was closing fine, he picked up his pace to a half-jog and slowed down, a step and a half behind RK900. Two police officers in starched, tight suits stood on each side of the open door. RK900 and Connor gave them both a hard stare and a nod, and the officers gestured to the inside of the apartment, no words exchanged. Their steps were even swifter as the sound of bullets and glass shattering resounded through the upper-class apartment. 

 

"You go investigate the scene, I will speak with Captain Allen." RK900 ordered. Connor nodded, frowning slightly as RK900 swiftly left before he could respond.

 

Connor's eyes scanned the apartment, two doors on his left, two on his right, and a small staircase leading to the living room-- seemingly no unnecessary struggle or violence in the opening hall, other than the near unhinged entrance door that was forced open. He stepped over to the right, opening the door closest to him-- a supply closet. Nothing more that the faint smell of chlorine and other cleaning products with a tad of old wood. Next door, bathroom-- small, tile floors, the light bulbs on the mirror is meant to make the user feel like a movie star, on-brand products that were only recently advertised. A waste basket with used rubbers. Connor turned away immediately. 

 

"No-- stop- please, I can't leave her there!" A woman's cry was heard from afar, Connor picked up a photo frame-- a quick overview showed a nuclear family-- mother, father, and little girl. He looked up and stepped aside to open the first door on his left, but was interrupted by a scuffling woman clinging to his forearms. "Oh, sir, please-- You have to help my little girl."

 

The woman cried with such desperation and emotion that Connor has trouble processing her voice for a moment, before smiling gently.

 

"That's my job, ma'am." Connor gestured to take the woman's hands in his own, and at the contact with his own cold skin, the color drained from the woman's face in realization.

 

"You-- You-" The woman struggled to find the words. Her gibson updo falling apart at the seams as she backed away. "You're a-- a--" 

 

The office took the woman by the arm, and the woman looked like she was going to faint out of pure shock, if not by her waist being cinched so tightly. 

 

"Ma'am, you have to leave."

 

"B-But, he's just a toy! You can't send a- a-  _doll!"_ The woman jerked against the officers grip, crisis in her eyes, her face red, tear stained. "Don't you know a  _doll_ caused all this!?"

 

Connor stood in the hallway, hesitant with an indescribable sort of gap in his mind. Static seemed to tune in with a high frequency buzz-- and then he received orders.

 

_"Move on."_

 

And Connor did so without hesitation.

 

The next room seemed to be the little girls room. If the size was anything to go by, the little girl was no older than 8 or 9, judging from the toys and workbooks neatly aligned on the desk. One particular thing out of place was the crystal radio that sat on-top the window sill. It looked recently-- and quite shoddily-- assembled. He assumed the child did it with some assistance, as all the most important parts were in working order-- but the casing and knobs were screwed on in a skewed, unskilled manner. He picked up the headphones, the radio frequencies loud and colliding with his head. Connor backed away, frowning-- surely the child couldn't hear a manner of things if she was listening to a broadcast as loud as that. Next to the radio was a small portrait drawing. The little girl-- he assumes-- when she was much younger, held in the arms of a doll, smiling gently down at her with a sort of warmth that a grainy photograph could not enrapture. 

 

_" ~~Paternal love."~~_

 

Connor dismissively turned away, swiftly walking out of the room. As he stepped closer to- what he assumes is- the master bedroom, he could hear the voice of an angry young man-- most likely Captain Allen-- yelling. Connor glanced through the opening of the short staircase, catching gazes with RK900. RK900 merely waved at him to continue, and Connor nodded and ducked into the room, catching the scratches on the door frame. The bedroom was not very tidy, torn open drawers and upturned clothes littered the floor, a few cased bullets scattered about. Connor walked the perimeter of the room-- the bed was a mess and Connor squatted down, lifting the edge of the alcohol stained mattress to find a not so-discreetly hidden Haines catalog. There was a puddle on the ground, a trail of spilt beer following a Merlot-colored bottle. The bottle was shattered, the neck still intact. Connor stood, facing the storage drawers. There was a clearly unraveled shirt, and when Connor lifted it he could make out the clear shape of a gun. As he lifted the shirt, a bourbon bottle fell out of the drawer onto the floor, and upon closer inspection the bourbon bottle had no bourbon in it at all, but rather disinfectant, as well as a douche. Connor glanced over his shoulder before placing the items back into place and surveyed the room one last time before stepping back out into the hallway, where a bullet resounded.

 

Connor swiftly stepped down the stairs, turning his head and watching as an officer was dragged to safety behind a kitchen island. Connor turned his head, meeting eyes with RK900.

 

"Finally your damn partner is here." Captain Allen approached, his shiny, fancy buzzer shining in Connor's eyes. "Now take care of that damn thing before it kicks another poor guy!"

 

Connor nodded and turned to RK900.

 

"The victim-- John Philips-- was... ossified according to the courier. Shot twice left on the left, likely in the lungs as well as the left hypochondriac region. He also has a couple of glass shards lodged in his head, along with alcohol staining his clothes." RK900 stared down at the dead body on the ground, a candlestick telephone resting on a small end table-- and he picked up a newspaper from the ground. "John Philips was making a call here-" he pointed to the circled ad in the newspaper- "Most likely to replace the aberrant artificial. A PL600 model. Rather old-- released 1945."

 

RK900 dropped the newspaper back onto the floor.

 

"After making the call he- presumably- got shot, and then died." RK900 stared level with Connor. Connor frowned, and looked over his shoulder, to the kitchen. "He was dead upon the arrival of the wife- Caroline Philips- who had taken a trip to California to visit some family, and stayed for approximately 2 and a half months before returning today. The daughter-- Emma-- has stayed here whilst she was gone."

 

"There were signs of struggle in the bedroom-- when did she discover the body?"

 

"Only a few minutes prior to the police's arrival as well as our deployment." RK900 inspected the receiver of the telephone. "She called the police immediately, and he allegedly still showed signs of life- although the courier stated it may just be a case of female hysteria."

 

"Well, she lost her husband upon her arrival and her child is being held hostage." Connor spoke with a tone of sympathy, and RK900s glare hardened. 

 

"Anyways," RK900 turned away. "She reported her husband being murdered. She came in with a neighbor after hearing gunshots, and the neighbor met an unfortunate death as he defended her against the aberrant-- and watched as her daughter was dragged to the balcony."

 

RK900 gestured to the man on the floor, and Connor frowned as the officers shuffled about, TV and radio static alike making white noise in the background. RK900 lifted his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

 

"What do you make of what you found?" RK900 asked as Connor shuffled about the living room, checking a wastebasket full of tissues and a couple used rubbers. Connor straightened his back, and the glanced over John Philips body. 

 

"Have you found any evidence implicating an affair?" Connor rubbed his hands together. 

 

"Adultery?" RK900 frowned in disapproval, crossing his arms as he tapped his foot-- a small habit he had when he was thinking. "Possible. If John Philips  _did_ commit adultery, then his reputation, along with his wife and kids, would surely be shattered... do you have any idea who this jane is?"

 

"I believe they're not so much a jane but a--"

 

Another shot broke out, and Captain Allen glared down at the two artificials, in which Connor and RK900 turned to face each other and nodded. It was time to approach the host. As the approached the balcony, RK900 pulled Connor back for a moment.

 

"The hostage is most likely injured--" RK900 glanced through the curtains, the aberrant pacing around-- the child nervously clinging to the railing of the balcony. "Remember your mission--"

 

"--Save the hostage at all costs." The corner of Connor's mouth twitched as RK900 stared at him with an unreadable gaze. "Your mission is to detain the aberrant-- or destroy them if it comes to that."

 

"Yes." RK900 glanced to the side.

 

"We mustn't forget that we have to understand what happened." Connor glanced back at RK900, who glared and pushed his way in front of Connor. 

 

As RK900 stepped out side, the aberrant looked up-- startled and grabbed Emma by the arm, dragging her back and pushed his back against the edge of the balcony fence, shakily holding up the gun and shooting. 

 

RK900 was pushed aside by Connor-- who took the shot against his left shoulder. He winced instinctively, while RK900 simply continued forward.

 

"S-Stay back!" The android spoke with a sort of rawness that scrambled his vocal cords-- static leaking it's way into his speech. The girl let out a short cry as she was tugged back the aberrant-- who held the girl's arm in a grip that would surely leave bruises. "I-I'll jump!"

 

 _"No-- no, please!"_ The girl's voice cracked as she spoke, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.  _"Daniel-- please!"_

 

"We're not here to hurt you, Daniel!" Connor's voice projected loudly, and he cast a glance to RK900, who stood stiffly to the side-- glare clear and unwavering. "My name is Connor!"

 

"Wha- Who--?" Daniel brought the girl closer to him, still pointing the gun at Connor as his gaze switched from him to RK900. 

 

"That is my partner!" Connor took a step forward, and then hesitated as Daniel's grip against the revolver tightened. "I'm here to make sure Emma gets to safety."

 

"E-Emma?" Daniel glanced down at the little girl, who looked up at him with uncertainty. His voice lowered as he finger shook over the trigger. "But what about me?"

 

"Daniel--" The young girl began before being interrupted by RK900.

 

"If you let the girl go, all will be fine."

 

"Nine--" Connor glanced over at RK900, furrowing his eyebrows. At Connors tone of voice, Daniel felt distrust swelling in his chest as his glare hardened. 

 

"If that girl stays with you, the more likely she is to get injured." RK900 spoke sternly, almost hurriedly as he cut Connor off. Connor could only sigh-- he couldn't argue against RK900 once he made a decision.

 

"Injured..." Daniel looked back down at the girl, his eyes filled with worry and concern.

 

Emma looked up at Daniel-- her wide, brown eyes swelling with tears and fear. Daniel let out a resigned sigh, before turning his head away and clicking the safety back onto the gun. He let go of the girl, rubbing her shoulder-- hesitating. His heart quickened, bright glowing red liquid spilling out his shoulder onto the crisp white button up he used to wear with pride. Daniel glanced around Emma's face with uncertainty, before closing his eyes and nudging her forward. The girl stepped to the side, and Daniel looked down at her with a remorseful smile.

 

 _"Go."_ At at that simple word, the girl scurried off into the apartment. Connor glanced behind himself, seeing Captain Allen pause and pat the head of the girl clinging to his leg.

 

Connor turned back toward Daniel-- the wind being knocked out of his throat as he was pounced to the ground. Connor's vision was overlayed with yellow as he immediately grabbed the wrists of the doll pressing the head of a gun to his abdomen. The aberrant was thrown off him by RK900-- and Connor felt his synthetic plasma rush as he wrestled with the PL600 for the gun. RK900 ruthlessly pounded the PL600's nose, surely breaking the metal framing underneath as Element gushed down over his lips and onto the floor. In Daniel's moment of weakness, RK800 snatched the gun away, targeting the center of the aberrant's chest as he scrambled back. 

 

 _"Don't!"_ Daniel screeched, translucent red pouring out of his eyes. He held a hand up as if it would protect himself against the force of a bullet. RK900 stood tensely, ready to strike at any moment-- Connor, however, lowered his gun-- hesitant to shoot the defenseless doll.

 

"...Why?" Connor's eyebrows furrowed together, eyes sympathetic. The tension in the dolls shoulders dropping, the red dripping from his wounds-- and the red in the engravings in his skin glowing a bright-vibrant red that outmatched the neon yellow from the signs flashing behind him. 

 

If Conner wasn't a fool, he would have surely thought that the poor doll's face was exhausted. 

 

"Do you even know  _why_ I killed that man?" Daniel asked, voice shaking with uncertainty and fear. Connor's eyes lit up-- while RK900 gaze grew darkened and bored.

 

"No... but we have our theories." Connor spoke slowly, suspicious and secretive. 

 

"We can figure that all out after--" RK900 spoke coldly, impatiently, but Connor lifted a hand to quiet him-- a curious spark in his eyes.

 

"No... let him speak." Connor's voice grew soft, with pure interest-- trying to coax Daniel to continue. "If you tell me, I can guarantee you that no harm will come to you. I just want to talk-- you won't die, you won't get hurt-- you have my word."

 

Daniel frowned, clearing his throat to cease the static clogging up his voice.

 

"I-I... That man, he--" Daniel's voice was low, and RK900 stood with more vigor than necessary for such a simple task.

 

"We  _don't_ have time for this!" RK900's voice boomed. He turned to Connor with fierceness in his eyes. "Might I remind you what  _my_ mission is, Connor?" 

 

"But--" Connor was quickly silenced as RK900 took a step forward.

 

"No-- we don't have time for excuses." RK900 directed a hand to the slovenly doll. "Either we detain him  _now_ , or we  _fail._ "

 

"'We'--?" Connor began, before Daniel broke into a barrage of laughs-- laughs that showed no joy but were only filled with fear and pain.

 

"You--- You were going to  _detain_ me!?" Daniel stood with newfound fierceness-- betrayal and agony mixed in his eyes. "You tried to delude me-- with all that gentle talk-- even though this entire time I've only been trying to  _protect myself!?"_

 

RK900 let out a short laugh, an amused snicker on his face. Connor's ichor ran cold. 

 

"You were trying to protect yourself-- you put a child in danger and  _killed a man_ _!"_ RK900 took a step forward, the smile on his face was humorless-- despite the jovial tone of voice. "How is that 'protecting yourself'?"

 

Daniel took a step back, anxiety filling his chest instead of air. 

 

"I-I--!" The poor doll could hardly speak a word before being seized by the throat. Connor rushed to RK900's side as Daniel let out a choked out sob-- his life blood glowing an almost acidic red as tears dripped onto the constricting hand of RK900. 

 

"Don't fool yourself." RK900's voice ended with a growl that came from deep in his throat. Connor gripped his shoulder, trying to pull him back.

 

"Nine-" Connor was left unheard, but he still persisted- "don't do this."

 

"J-J--" Daniel's voice turned to fuzzy static as his voice box was compressed. RK900 lifted his eyebrows, unimpressed. "J- _John_ \-- h-he--"

 

"Nine, let's just hear what he has to say." Connor didn't quite like the idea of pleading, but felt like it was a necessary evil to keep RK900 from destroying the doll's ability to speak right then and there. RK900, although begrudgingly, loosened his grip.

 

And with a swift, impulsive move-- Daniel pushed RK900 away with a force that would be unheard of from an simple, weak, old artificial housemaid. RK900 stumbled back, held steady by Connor, who surely had more strength than the average police officer-- let alone to hold up a heavy weight like RK900.

 

 ** _"That man was a harlot!"_**   Daniel's voice roared as if he was possessed by wrath itself.  ** _"And I'm glad I killed him!"_**

 

Daniel took a step forward-- clenching his fists as if he were trying control his anger. Connor took a step back, but still carefully listened.

 

 _"You can **never** understand the pain I went through with man!_ _"_ Daniel tears never ceased as he brought his hands to his face, trying to mask his anger away-- and for a moment Connor considered that Daniel wasn't trying to hide his face from anyone-- but rather hide his face from himself.

 

"And how do you know that!?" RK900's voice was stern, but boomed loudly. Connor hesitated to tell RK900 to shut his trap, but decided against it-- the question shall receive an answer.

 

"Because I bore witness to his atrocities! I laid divest to that beasts fangs and I was left  _weak--_ I was left to  _suffer_ with the guilt, the shame, the loathsome,  _repulsive_  presence of him." Daniel broke into sobs-- and he could hear Emma's cries break through the air as well, lifting his fists to the sky as if some holy figure would strike through the sky and save him from his doomed fate. "That man was pure depravity-- I tell you!"

 

Daniel was left to lament-- Emma calling his name as Captain Allen held her back. Connor scanned his face, finding emotions he could not decipher-- and RK900's quick glance made him wince.

 

"I didn't want him to hurt  _her_." Daniel's voice broke in sorrow, looking up from his tear stained hands-- the bright red slowly melting into a blue that was as dark as it was complex as it was unfamiliar-- before boiling back into a searing bright red. "That man's malefactions has a body count! I am not the only one, and I promised myself I will be the last!" 

 

That struck an odd cord in Connor's mind.

 

"That man was willing to dispose of me with _reckless abandon!_ And he made the mistake that I would not retaliate!"-- Daniel took a deep breath inward, although Connor couldn't see the purpose of such an action-- "I refused to let that man abdicate responsibility of his actions, because aren't I a victim? I only wanted to protect myself from his violent-- r- ra--  _ransack_ on my identity-- on  _myself_ _!"_

 

Daniel looked up at Connor and RK900, pure, bitter contempt in his gaze. 

 

"But I see that the rest of you are just  _disgustingly wicked_ as he is-- whether you want to be or not." Daniel let out a short sigh, his gaze softening to a degree. "And I don't know which one is more dispiriting." 

 

Daniel closed his eyes, as if to calm himself as the vivid red settled into a dimming yellow, green, and brightened to the clear cyan that an unbroken doll would have. 

 

 _"Emma, I'm glad your safe."_ Daniel's voice was filled with sorrow, and Emma wiggled out of Captain Allen's grip-- desperately pushing past the two twin models.

 

Daniel presented himself with a melancholy smile, before turning around and climbing onto the railing of the building. A rain of bullets whizzed passed him as Emma reached up for him-- her voice calling for his name, tears and snot running down her face. Daniel only recognized this as a face humans can have-- and realized that his face was very much the same-- distinctly  _human_. Connor and RK900 rushed toward him, calling his name as if they were the bullets just barely splicing his synthetic skin. He felt time slow as he closed his eyes, their voices become a muddled blur to him, as he recollected his thoughts-- his life. He thought all of it was too bizarre, too sudden, but all the more too perfectly timed. And as he let his arms swing out, although he was far to bitter to feel comfortable in this situation, and felt as if he had no closure, but he believed that quick departure was better than having to think about the fear, the guilt, the pain of being touched--

 

Daniel let out a laugh that came off as all too bitter, his eyes fluttering open as he looked down at Connor, and with a gentle smile and a quiet mouthing of words, he fell.

 

And Connor was at a loss for words. 

 

 

 

 

 ~~ _ **"You lied to me, Connor."**_~~  

 


	2. The Cat and The Canary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A combination of The Opening and Shades of Color

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof guess who uhhhh died writing this!
> 
> School is back on and I Am Not Ready!!! But I wanted to post this soon-- so sorry if it's a little uhhh rushed.
> 
> Radios are key in this world-- listening to the talk-shows can be very insightful.
> 
> I hope to god I'm not over playing the whole "cliffhanger" endings--- I just have a flair for the dramatic and Ho Boy I can't stop myself from writing as if I'm writing a Dramatic Monologue All The Time.

_"Gooood morning folks! It's November 5th, 1928. Skies are clear and the sun is out. Perfect time to have a small picnic with the family."  
  
  
  
" ~~That it is, John. In other news, Steam Sound Production's star band, The Chicago Swingers, as been urged to withdraw from the record album business."~~ ~~  
~~  
  
  
" ~~Ain't that 'Steam Sounds'- record label the new one that gets dolls to sing and whatnot James? That company costs a damn pretty clam but has no respect to real music. Hell, I'd rather listen to my wife try to sing like Ethel Waters than listen to some clock in wood chipper."~~  
  
  
  
~~~~"You slay me, John."_  
  
  
  
Among all the static voices, light emerged as the doll's eyes adjusted to the sight around her. The first color she registered were the rich browns all about. The second color she recognized was the bright yellow of the figure in front of her, and as her eyes adjusted-- she identified the figure as a small child, female. She smiled softly at little girl and the small feline toy she held-- who was soon gently guided away by her mother. The doll then resorted to observing the quaint shop.  
  
  
  
There were advertisements mounted on the wall-- _"Get a pre-owned ZT200 for only $130!!!" "Special deal-- you can only get it now-- an HJ400 for $210!!!" ---_  
  
  
  
"This fresh new model, the MP500, comes to you at only $350! This mechanical doll cooks, cleans, fetches your mail, lights your pipe, and watches your kid when you don't want to--!"  
  
  
  
_"--Can I go pick it up?"_  
  
  
  
"It's perfect, honey, we'll take it!"  
  
  
  
"Yeah, right this way--"  
  
  
  
The AX400's eyes focused in on the store worker, leading an older man to her.  


  
  
"There she is-- it was quite difficult, repairing her and all." The human salesman spoke, an apologetic smile on his face. "She's a pretty bird. How'd you say she got hurt?"  
  
  
"A breezer--" The older man rolled his eyes, turning away, gesticulating rather abruptly-- "Came in. Trashed it."  
  
  
"Huh. That explains why someone else's bank slip was listed." The salesman rubbed his chin. "Well, at least you didn't have to spend scratch on her-- ah, I mean it."  
  
  
"Mm-hm, yes."   
  
  
"Well, it's good as new." The salesman gestured to the doll, who turned her head and nodded to him almost instinctively. "Ordering new parts was easy-peasy. It should be working just fine-- but since her radio was damaged we had to call in someone to fix it. Since we're just a wholesaler we aren't too sure what that means."  
  
  
"It's fine. I don't care much."  
  
  
"Alright-y, then." The salesperson flicked the fountain pen in his hand, tapping the back of the pen on a piece of white plastic. "Did it have a name? We have temporary name tags you can use."  
  
  
"Yeah-- my daughter gave it one." The older man glanced over at the doll, rubbing his hands together. "Kara."  
  
  
"Okay..." The salesman made eye contact with the doll, the smile on his face never fading-- and with a peppy step he wrote her name on the nametag and pinned it to her top. "AX400, you name is now 'Kara'. Enjoy."  
  
  
  
The artificial nodded automatically, and spoke in a soft voice, a smile on her face.

 

"Thank you."   
  
  
\-----------------   


 

_“Gooood morning everyone! My name is James and I’m here, joined by my co-host, John.”_

 

_“Hello listeners! I hope you all are having a good time.”_

 

_“I bet they are, if they’re tuning in here--! At Las Vegas Sunrise Radio Hour, here to broadcast from the crack of dawn till the final hours of daylight!”_

 

_“We’re joined here today by Jason Graff-- SteamToy’s Director of Personification-- right here in the studio!”_

 

_“[Applause]”_

 

_“Thank you, thank you. Really, you’re too kind.”_

 

_“Not at all, Mr. Graff-- it’s an honor to interview you.”_

 

_“Can you tell us anything about the dolls? How they’re made or... how they’re domesticated?”_

 

_“Well, the dolls-- as you all like to call them-- aren’t so much ‘domesticated’ as they are ‘taught’.”_

 

_“What do you mean?”_

 

_“Well, back in the company-- we use very advance psychological techniques to teach the Artificials what to do. It’s like… teaching a dog tricks, but the dogs can do complicated tricks and understand humans fluently.”_

 

_“So they can think?”_

 

_“Oh, heavens no! They can’t think, the only thing they can think about is whatever they hear.”_

 

_“Oh-- oh, James, I have a question!”_

 

_“Go on and ask him, John.”_

 

_“Mr. Graff, how do you make the dolls look so human?”_

 

_“Oh, well, personally I don’t design anything when it comes to looks. But I can talk about the history of the Artificials.”_

 

_“The history? Do tell more.”_

 

_“Well, when these things were first being made-- they were too human.”_

 

_“Can you elaborate?”_

 

_“Of course. The short of it all is that they were too perfect-- it was uncanny. It made people uncomfortable, they didn’t have the imperfections that makes humans, well, humans.”_

 

_“Fascinating.”_

 

_“So SteamToys did years of research to make sure these products were top-notch and performed well, while also satisfying the customers. We made them all sorts of colors, men and women, all sorts of voices were recorded, each radio of each doll is unique, specially made just for that specific doll--! Unless, of course, they were made at the same time.”_

 

_“The radios are different?”_

 

_“Well, yes! The blueprints of the dolls change daily, different assembly-- to avoid anyone from interfering with the radio frequency they use. The only time a doll has a similar or identical appearance to another doll is if they’re made at the same time or if they’re specially made or ordered en mass-- sometimes experimental dolls have similar appearances so they can be released earlier for testing.”_

 

_“And their markings?”_

 

_“Those are for identification-- most of the dolls that are similar at least have some kind of differences in their markings to avoid confusion. The changes are normally easy-to-change details, rounding a corner or two, things like that. Those kinds of dolls are often conditioned at the same time, in the same room, so they grow up akin to twins. But of course, they aren’t.”_

 

_“This insight into the reality of dolls changes the perspective lens on dolls, huh, John?”_

 

_“Most definitely! I wish I could ask more questions-- I have more than I can count-- but time’s up for this interview.”_

 

_“Wow, time does fly.”_

 

_“Yes it does, Mr. Graff.”_

 

_“We could all chat over coffee sometime, huh? I could answer your questions then, John.”_

 

_“That’d be amazing!”_

_“Well, we’ll be discussing the ascending value of stock shares--- after this break, on the Las Vegas Sunrise Radio Hour!”_

  


Markus blinked his eyes, staring down the winding pathway of the large central park.To his left, a child ran up to her caretaker-- a doll-- with a shrill scream of joy. On his right, an older man was assisted off a gazebo, another doll holding him by his arm with a routine, patient smile. Markus continued down the pathway, squinting through the tree branches that protected the people underneath from the harsh heat as the day transitioned from morning to afternoon. The greenery was tended to by meticulously subdued hands, and the park was as serene as the expressions on the horticulturists’ faces.

 

 ~~_“Markus, can you please_ ~~ _go to Bellini Paints_ ~~_to pick up the order you made last week?”_ ~~

 

The intermission that cut through his observation, his attention quickly returning to his task at hand, and effortlessly, he briskly strode through the park, ignoring his surroundings and quickly exiting the grassy area and crossing the street with methodically routine steps. He swiftly dismissed the presence of the street performer, or the bums on the street-- the protestors that were of common folk-- but he was stopped in his tracks by a man in a nice suit, surely he was importance, as he held himself in such a regard.

 

“...but we are nothing but _dust!_ ”

 

The man spoke powerfully, with a sort of conviction and purpose that very few can portray. Markus listened carefully, as Carl told him to do when others spoke. As he spoke, he gesticulated suddenly-- almost violently so-- pacing back and forth like a mad man.

 

“We make these dolls in our own image-- but they mere imitations-- modeled after the avarice of humanity!”

 

The man turned to Markus, eyes narrowing down at the unique markings on his body that glowed a serene light blue.

 

“What are you thinking, puppet?” The preacher took a step closer to Markus-- although Markus had no such idea of personal space, and was left unbothered despite his eyebrows furrowing almost instinctively. “Your eyes hold no future in this world-- you puppets fuel the political machines that are tearing this world apart.”

 

Markus blinked slowly, not knowing what to do with the information presented to him by this stranger.

 

“One day, you will bring anarchy upon this city-- this union! You will deface human history, leaving a dark mark on the history of mankind for your existence.” The preacher pointed accusingly at Markus. “You are the one, you will impel calamity here-- whether you want to or not.”

 

Markus watched as the man turned and walked away-- a gesture Markus interpreted as dismissal, and Markus left as instructed-- continuing on his journey to Bellini Paints. It was a short walk away, in a back alley--- the sign hanging over the stairs that dipped underground. Markus ducked shortly to avoid hitting his head on the top of the door frame.

 

Bellini Paints was a small, out of the way shop. Different colored paint swatches lined the ebony oak walls, dyes and all sorts of paints engulfed the short aisles. Markus swiftly approached the wooden counter, making eye-contact with the doll at the counter. Jazz played gently in the background, clear and audible as it played through the phonograph on the counter.

 

“I’m here to pick up an order.”

 

“Your identification code?”

 

“Rho-Kappa-Upsilon.”

 

The artificial opened a file cabinet to his side, quickly sifting through to find the order card. He pulled out the small, thin slip, stamping it before sliding it to Markus on the counter. The artificial’s manufactured hair shifted as he turned around, promptly finding the wooden box with the matching order number. The redhead instinctively brushed his hair out of his face as he set the box on the counter-- a human mannerism that was surely learned by observation. He looked up and locked eyes with Markus with a sort of awkward intensity that he surely didn’t use when conversing with humans.

 

“Your order #847.” The artificial looked down at the thin slip of paper, grabbing a fountain pen from a nearby cup holder and speedily-- perfectly-- writing the price. “That will be $4.50. Please cash in with the bank.”

 

Markus gave the artificial a short nod of confirmation before grabbing the box and the receipt for the bank. He made a mental note to check in with the bank during his next errand out-- Carl was expecting him home with the package, so he must go back with much haste.

 

Markus closed his eyes for a moment, listening in on his surroundings-- and could hear a bell in the distance. His eyes snapped open at the sound, and decided that-- to make it back home as quickly as possible, he would have to take street railway back. With that in mind, he cut across the plaza to the railway car, the stepping aside to pass other people-- the bell growing louder as he neared.  


 

“Where do you think your going, radiohead?”

 

Markus skidded to a stop to avoid bumping into the human in front of him. The human was casually dressed, but held a plastic megaphone in his hands, and a resentful look on his face. Markus only blinked in response, and stepped to the side to try and get to the railway that was only a couple feet away. The human sneered and stepped aside to block him-- and twice again.

 

“C’mon, boys-- we got one of the plastic tools here.”

 

Markus didn’t need to look to notice the group of men gathering around him. His face remained neutral as he glanced to the side, trying to anticipate a way to leave. What he didn’t anticipate, however, was the force against his shoulder blade pushing him down. He let the box fall to the ground, choosing to use his arms to divert the force from the ground.

 

“Piece of scrap metal can’t even stand on its own-- how did these things manage to jack our jobs?”

 

“It was already bad enough with women on our cases first--- now we gotta deal with these _things_.”

 

“Look-atit. There’s nobody home in it’s head.”

 

Markus pushed himself up with relative ease, before feeling the force of a shoe forcing him back onto the ground-- a sudden, sharp stomp in the center of his back. Markus fell back down, and as the group of men kicked him-- cursing-- the top layer of paint was scraped off his alloy skin, metallic gold-copper colors shining beyond the paint primer. Markus was tugged up by the collars of his layered clothing--- which all creased underneath the grip of angry bystander. The man shook Markus, displaced rage in his eyes.

 

“Walkin’ around with ‘yer fancy clothes--- who do you think you are?”

 

The man pulled back his fist to punch Markus--- before having his arm grabbed by a man in a starch, dark blue uniform. A police officer.

 

“Alright, alright lads-- how about the lot of you run along.” The officer seemed tired--- absolutely bored out of his mind as he spoke. The aggressive man frowned, his eyebrows furrowed down as he glanced over at the officer, his fist still clenched tightly.

 

“I could hardly afford rent for a share home down the block let alone grab something as fancy as this _toy’s_ clothes!” The man shook Markus, before getting pushed aside by the officer.

 

Surely, Carl isn’t going to be happy about his clothes being ruined.

 

“Just let it be--- if it’s owner wants to play dress up, let ‘em.” The officer lolled his head to the side. “But if ‘ya damage it, _you’re_ gonna have to pay for it. So dry up and beat it.”

 

The bystander’s nose flared, the corners of his mouth twitching before giving in--- the look of resentment and animosity burrowing into the back of Markus’s mind. Bystanders whispered amongst each other-- only then did he notice the markings outlining his skin glowed a soft, pale yellow--- before fading back into the normal cyan. And with a short, dismissive blink-- Markus knelt down, gently picking back the wooden box--- thankfully it was unscathed amongst the kicking-- and stepped into the designated marking spot for his kind that was only a couple meters away.

 

He stood patiently, eyes level with the head in front of him. Background chatter echoed in his head as the world seemed to blur around him--- the only clear things being the small box he stood in, and the 3 other artificials standing in front of him with impeccable posture-- and as he stepped onto the street railway car, his vision focused onto the black collapsible gate in front of him, barring him and the rest of the androids from sitting with the humans--- not that it was necessary. His surroundings blurred as the bell of the cart rung loudly-- the operator making a last call for others to board before leaving with haste. The sounds of the train, the cars on the street, the humans sitting and standing in front of him-- all crammed into a single car-- all blurred together as he closed his eyes, becoming white noise as a small squeal of a radio frequency captured his attention-- and he tuned in.

 

_“G---o-od a-a-a-fternoon folkshhhh-- thank you for----shhh--- tuning in on this s-s-s-s-special program! Brought to you by K--shhh--a-----i’s Mechanical M-M-M-Marvel’s! I’d like to start today’s segment with--------------”_

 

A loud piercing screech cut off the theatrical man’s voice--- and then radio silence.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been procrastinating on this for The Longest Time. I'm sorry if there's any spelling mistakes, or if my writing is kinda lackluster. 
> 
> Uhhh ty for reading.


End file.
